


Run

by Arcaya



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cold Weather, Comfort/Angst, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M, Multi, tyrelliot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7742602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcaya/pseuds/Arcaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his secrets exposed, Elliot is forced to go into hiding with Tyrell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Day 6. And before the TV reception cut out the reports are saying the amount of snow fallen in the last 24 hours has reached record levels, cars left abandoned in the streets, businesses closed across the city as people are left trapped inside their apartments, temperatures across NYC dropping to sub-zero, and in related news police searches for the two most wanted men in the country compromised by weather conditions.

It’s been almost a week.

A week since the FBI arrived at Darlene’s front door, approximately an hour before she sent me the message, warned me I’d probably be next, they had names, and she was sorry. She loved me. And I needed to get away as quickly as possible.

I remember getting the phone call several minutes later in a cold state of panic, answering to the sound of static background fuzz, then the sound of a familiar voice. His voice.

And then nothing. Next thing I know, I wake up here, on the floor of some old holed up shack in the middle of god knows where, the mountains? All I know is it’s fucking freezing, my own breath is coming out in a thick icy mist, and I can’t feel my hands.

On the first night, Tyrell says he’s got used to this place, and so will I if I want to stay hidden.

And that’s about all he’s said to me since I got here six days ago. No explanation for how I got here, did I get here myself? Did he find me? Why is he helping me? And why did he disappear like this in the first place? Every time I bring the situation up I’m told to leave it, _or do I want to find my own way back to NYC and into the hands of the FBI?_   I asked him if this is any better, and he ignored me.

My watch says it’s 4am as I wake up, muscles stiff and my whole body shivering as I open my eyes, pull the covers over myself and try to ignore the howling wind, the painful cold. I miss the sound of the television at night. The sound of the late night news reports and the early-hour reruns of shitty cancelled sitcoms had made it a little easier to ignore the loneliness, block out the panic as I realise this might be the first week of the rest of my life.

I think about Darlene, try to imagine this whole nightmare as if it is just that. I’m trapped inside a bad dream, and everyone I love and care about is safe back home, so am I, and any minute now I’ll wake up…

And then suddenly the silence is broken by the sound of a pained scream. I jump up in bed and half out of my skin and stare across the room into the darkness. I can hear shuffling, writhing, the sound of Tyrell’s voice as he moans and mutters something unintelligible over and over.

This is the third time this has happened since I’ve arrived here.

The writhing and muffled shallow breathing continues. And I’m starting to think the loneliness is getting to me. The desire for human contact, interaction, closeness, _anything._ Wherever I am and however I got here, Mr Robot obviously didn’t book a ticket.

“Tyrell?” I call out into the darkness.

The writhing stops, followed by a silence. He’s awake.

I push the covers off myself, step out of bed and across the creaking wood floorboards, feel my way around the room until my hands fall on the gas lantern on the table. I switch it on, and notice the bundled up pile of bedsheets on top of the bed nearby.

He turns around as I reach him, and the light hits his face. Hair stuck to his forehead, his cheeks glistening before he wipes them and glares at me.

 _“What?”_ He demands, tries to hide the wavering in his voice. “What do you want?”

“You woke up screaming.” I tell him, watch as his pained expression predictably transforms into a sneer, he’s laughing at me.

“Perhaps I was dreaming of spending an eternity trapped inside some shithole in the mountains…” He begins.

“…Look... you don’t have to…”

“…with someone who seems incapable of giving anyone privacy even _without_ the aid of a computer.”

His composure seems to break on the last line, and he turns round, his back facing me.

I don’t know what I expected.

“Tyrell…” My loneliness betrays me, speaks for me.

But I know better than to continue. I turn around, switch the lantern off, and climb back into bed.

At 6am, I finally fall back to sleep to the sounds of muffled sobbing.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 14 and the generator is up and running again. I wake up to the sound of the television blaring. A daytime talk show. They’re talking about what we did. I hear Tyrell’s name, Darlene’s, mine. And then I hear the homely Oprah-type host lower her voice, introduce today’s guest. Joanna Wellick.

I push myself up out of bed, pull a hoodie over the numerous layers I already have on and head over to the television, fold my arms around myself and try to stop shaking from the cold.

_‘Welcome to the show Mrs Wellick, and let me just say how much I commend your participation with all of us here today. I know it takes a lot of courage stepping forward to speak of your husband’s disappearance and his suspected crimes on national television and I know this can’t have been an easy decision for you…’_

Tyrell isn’t here. Perhaps he’s gone to the anonymous drop off point for supplies.

 _‘Thankyou…’_ A pale, run down version of Joanna Wellick wipes a tear from her eye, is it rehearsed? I can’t tell. Are those bags under her eyes a result of her devastation or is she just really good at perfecting the distraught, abandoned housewife makeup routine? _‘As you know, it’s been a very difficult time for me ever since…’_

She pauses, dabs her eye with another tissue, a well-manicured hand to her mouth as she collects herself.

Why would Tyrell have gone for supplies twice in one week?

_‘…In your own time Mrs Wellick, don’t worry.’_

_‘Ever since news broke out of my husband’s crimes, I’ve been utterly distraught.  I’ve been going over and over it in my head since the day I found out about the Sharon Knowles murder, the 5/9 attacks...'_ Her voice breaks. She’s trying not to cry. ‘… _how could someone I love do such a thing? How could the father of our child do something like this to our family…’_

I switch the channel over to the Safe For All Network. A rerun of that stupid family show I’m ashamed to admit I’ve began to feel invested in flickers in and out on the screen. You’d think the reception in the middle of the mountains would be a little better, right?

In this week’s episode, the Corporate Exec character, I forget his name, he’s had the absolute day from hell. Not only has he had to go to an out of town business trip last minute, he’s had to take his screaming toddler with him. And it’s just spit up on his favourite tie.

 _‘Do you have any idea how much this suit is worth?’_ Corp Exec shouts at screaming toddler as he desperately tries to scrub baby vomit off his Armani shirt and silk tie.

I watch five more episodes until it begins to get dark. Still no sign of Tyrell. I’m starting to worry.

And as I put my coat on and brave the horizontal snowstorm outside, I’m asking myself why I’m even going to look for Tyrell, why I care. This man is everything I hate. A physical embodiment of Evil Corp, enemy number one. And so what if he’s upped and left? Surely it’s better to be alone than spend an indefinite amount of time in a confined space with this man?

I’ve been walking for over half an hour now, calling out his name, feeling increasingly terrified that this is it, he’s gone, now I really am alone. The snow is hitting me in the face at such a speed it feels like tiny needles are flying horizontally at me, I can barely see where I’m going. The wind’s howling ominously, is it telling me to go back? Do I really want to die out here, in the middle of fuck knows where?

“Tyrell!” I call out for the thousandth time.

_What if he’s lost? Scared, alone and slowly, painfully freezing to death?_

“Tyrell! Where are you?!”

_And so what if he is, it’s all a guy like him deserves anyway. Right?_

I trip suddenly, almost go flying over what I think is a tree trunk or a rock. I manage to stop myself, grab hold of the nearest tree. I look down.

“Shit! Tyrell?”

I’m instantly flooded with mixed emotions as I look upon his form laying spread eagled and half covered in snow on the floor. His skin is so pale he’s turning blue, and he’s so still I’m afraid to touch him. In his hand, a cellphone. Who was he calling?

I kneel down, reach over to his neck to check his pulse.

_What if he’s dead? Please don’t be dead Tyrell. Please don’t leave me._

I can’t find one.

My stomach drops, and I begin to panic.

I try again.

Nothing. He’s so cold. I feel a lump in my throat as tears well in my eyes.

_No. This isn’t happening. You can’t be dead. You can’t just leave me like this. I need you. You’re the last thing I have._

Although I know it’s pointless, I try one more time.

My heart races as I prepare to face the reality. Tyrell’s dead. Accept it, _accept it,_ get back inside before you join him in the frozen corpse club…

And then I feel the pulse, see the eyelids partially open.

_He’s alive._

“Elliot…? Is that you…?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read so far, would love to hear your feedback! More to come soon.


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